Fire and Blood
by FlameAngel24
Summary: Hundreds of years after the War of the Ring with the world seemingly at peace, an ancient evil will arise from the old fairy tales and histories. Freya, Queen of Dragons, shall face an old enemy and the elves of Aman will be gifted a new one - one that has not been faced for many ages. Will this tale end with glory or death?
1. Prologue

**Fire and Blood **

_"I will take what is mine with fire and blood." –Daenerys Targaryen_

_~Prologue~_

Eyes stared back at her; dead, blue eyes that matched the cold. They stared into the unseeing world and into her own soul. Nerthus shivered, wondering how these men died. They were garb in traveling furs – dark and bristly – all around their stick like bodies with blood matting the bristly fur nearest their hearts. Nerthus touched one and from his back poured white-silver arrows. She hissed, batting the arrows away.

"What is it?" Her brother, Elathan, asked as he raised his head from the other men. She turned, ebony scales flashing in the moonlight with eyes full of fright. Her brother, on the other hand, was paler than snow and in the moon's light he was glowing. He padded next to her, observing the men and the arrows – he frowned, "Mithril, they were hunting us."

"_Hunting_," Nerthus scoffed. "We are not game…"

She saw the men, each holding a weapon of the white-silver mithril. Her heart picked up its pace in her great chest. Their mother had been right; they were not a secret anymore. When the last of elves passed into the west, they took the secrecy of the dragons with them. Coruwen had left and entrusted Lord Bard II with their protection. Bard had long since passed and his son's son, and now there was nothing but cruelty in the South.

"Apparently _they_ do, Nerthus," Elathan answered, his tail swiping the nearest man. The dead man tumbled to the ground, limbs limply flailing like wet strips of cloth. "The least you could do is burn them."

"Me?" Her voice rose in anger and Elathan smirked. Anger welled within her, coursing through her heart like fire through dry grass.

"I'm not a fire drake like our precious mother, _sister,_" Elathan let out a deep laugh, a laugh that only made her anger boil faster and faster in her heart. Her body felt as though it would burn up, but when Elathan turned around to leave a pool of ice pooled in her gut. "You are not afraid of a few dead men, are you?"

She mustered the courage to say, "Hardly, now leave before I turn you into a sun spot."

"Yes, dear sister," Came the sickly sweet answer. He padded out of her line of sight, white scales making the moon pale in comparison.

Through much trepidation, she looked down at the men and their weapons of mithril and took a deep breath. _They are dead, Nerthus,_ she thought over and over as she dragged them into a pile. All sets of their unseeing eyes looked at her, and she knew them to be dead but she still felt a sense of unease around them. She steeled herself, preparing to breathe fire on their lifeless bodies when a loud crack of lightning bit the air. She corkscrewed her head around with her gaze held on the eastern horizon.

Upon the velvet blanket of night and bead-like stars, Nerthus could see the faint outlines of lavender ribbons striking the ground in succession like a jagged dance. And then her eyes wandered to the rest of the Withered Heath. Thunderhead grey mountains stood like great, jagged teeth amongst the swooping ashen hills of the heath while patches of forests and white ash mingled with the mountainous regions. Nerthus remembered this place with a deep fondness stemming from her time as a dragonling, when life seemed easier and everyone did not look upon her family in horror. In her side vision, she saw the great tail of a white star blink into and out. A loud metal rustle shattered her thoughts.

The men had clasped their spears and swords in their hands and were hefting themselves up from the inelegant pile she had thrown them in. Her eyes widened in shock, heart racing as one picked up a crude iron bow and the quiver of mithril arrows. Her mind started to scatter when she thought about what she could do. Could she roar for Elathan? No, he would not come. Could she breathe fire on them and kill them? They avoided death once-.

She started to run.

Despite her lungs wanting to unleash their flame, she roared into the sky until the very muscle that drove her dragonfire cried for air. The men ran after her, spears leveled and swords raised in a barbaric way of fighting. Turning, she swiped at them with her talons, sending them skittering back but one raked his sword across her paws. She screamed as fire ran through the open wound, clamping her jaws down on hi – he tasted like rotten meat. A growl escaped her throat when a mithril spear pierced her side, and she wheeled around, teeth flashing to take a hold of the men. And then a roar touched her senses, she froze.

From the dark forest burst her sister, Zorya, with green fire slipping from her clenched, black teeth. Her yellow eyes locked on Nerthus and then on the men. She let out a curse, running at the men with such speed that Nerthus swore she saw green lightning in place of her sister. , The green princess leapt at one with her wings outstretched and claws dug into the chest of one man, ripping out blue-black ribbons from his body. One drove his sword into Zorya's fanned tail and she howled with her head thrown back. Yellow eyes flashed back and swiped her tail across the ground, sending the man to collide with a nearby tree.

A shot of pain drew Nerthus from her sister to look at the archer. He had leveled an arrow to her belly with the mithril tip of the arrow glinting the moonlight. Her chest heaved with the tremors of her wounds, and her wings were open wide, revealing the thin, leathery skin stretched between hollow bones. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat, what could she do if he fired? If he loosed his arrow, aiming for her chest, she would die.

"Nerthus, run!" Zorya shouted as her head craned up. Nerthus nearly choked on the bile that crawled up her throat – her sister's snout was no longer green but rather blacker than night.

"What about you?" Nerthus answered back, keeping her tone level.

Zorya smiled wickedly, black teeth shiny like polished swords, "It will take more than a dead man walking to kill me, sister."

Nerthus did not answer, for she knew that Zorya could at least fend off the archer. With that thought locked in her mind, she flexed her wings and watched the man at her feet, his icy, dead eyes watching her intensely as though he would truly shoot her. Her eyes focused on his hands when she saw the slight lower of the bow – his hands shook like thin limbs in the breeze. She took the chance to swipe at his feet with her tail, causing him to tumble to the ground and fled into the safety of the air. She hovered away from the archer's view of her to scan the area. Fire scarred her home – pillars of red-orange fire kissed the night air replacing its relaxing, pine scent with that of putrid smoke. A roar rattled her blood alive – her mother was roaring… Her wings suddenly became full of man's steel, forcing her to land in a long since abandoned cavern.

She let out a raspy cough as her lungs tightened, crying out for air. She shook her head and smoke flew out of her mouth. Nerthus let out a heavy sigh, thinking. Her home was burning, her brothers were gone, and her sister was fending off an archer so she could escape. Her mind thought of questions that began to compile upon each other. A loud thump was heard above her, and the granite screamed as something raked its nails above.

"I know you're here, little princess," A sickly, soothing voice cooed above her. Nerthus' heart began to race, and she dove back into the furthest corner of the cave to allow her black scales to hide her from whatever sat above her. The rocks cracked, bouncing down on the ledge that led out – the _only_ way out. In the dim light, Nerthus saw grey claws curl around the top of the opening followed by a snake like head covered in fish scales and grey like the thunderclouds. Its beady eyes blinked, and its long, hooked claws curled around the top of the entrance. "Come out, come out… I can smell your fear."

Nerthus refused to take the bait but her eyes narrowed. She watched the creature closely as it flopped down onto the ledge, limbs grappling to pulls its lengthy body onto the ledge. It looked like the fell beasts her mother had spoken of – scaled like a fish and long like serpents – but the creature's eyes were bright silver and her head more elegant like a swan's.

The creature's eyes locked with hers, spooking her half way into her grave, and the creature spoke, "There you are. You have your grandfather's eyes, those beautiful red eyes."

Nerthus rose as defiance sparked in her veins like white-hot liquid, black-violet flame starting to form on her lips. She snarled and lunged forward without a word. Her watcher pressed a grey claw into her face, the beast's claws grated on her scales. Nerthus could feel the resistance used to keep her away. The beast smiled.

"You look like him too, how ironic…," The creature trailed off as though in thought. The creature's eyes blinked, observing her closely. "Do you know who I am?"

"Nay, never have met you in my life!" Nerthus growled. Black poured into her vision yet she could still see the outline of the creature.

"I am Castamere," Castamere answered in her ear. Her voice made Nerthus shiver, her voice was an icy wind and Nerthus was a human in the midst of it. A deep roar made Castamere look away and into the sky. "He calls for us."

"Us?" Nerthus echoed, nearly hissing as Castamere's nails dug into her skull. She ignored the pain that blazed under her skin and the fear that made her blood icy. Her lungs took rapid, shallow breaths because of the fear, but her lungs let out a strangled cry when Castamere dragged her up the cliff face and over to her mother's hold.

Her mother's hold was decorated with carvings of dragon history that her father had made with his claws, a few shiny objects that her mother had procured over the course of two centuries, and a long string of gold orbs with large indents. The last item was a gift from the dwarves of Erebor; they had re-forged an important necklace that once belonged to Ancalagon. But Nerthus saw that the necklace was not sitting its usual place on a large slab of rock. No, the necklace rested around a neck of black.

Castamere smiled, tossing Nerthus into the room like a limp doll. Refusing to cry out in pain as pebbles wiggled their way under her skin, she drew herself up. She cursed under her breath, shaking the blood from her eyes to look up at her mother, father, and two brothers. Southern men held chains of white-silver mithril in their hands that climbed up to the necks of her family. One strode forward, clasping the same chain necklace around her broken scales. Too weak to snarl or bite, she hung her head. The princess's heart shuddered with fear as a low laugh played on the crackle of the fire in the room.

An ebony claw snaked out of the darkness to raise her gaze to a second set of eyes. It spoke in a honeyed voice, "An incarnation of Ancalagon himself… How… Cute, Freya."

"Leave Nerthus alone," Freya commanded, amber eyes glowing like illuminated suns in the blaze of the fire. "You came for me, remember?"

Nerthus saw the eyes turn from Freya and noticed their color – a pale, sickly green brighter than the grass in spring. The claw that held her gaze dropped from her chin causing her head to drop to the floor in a heavy thump that jarred her whole head. She tried to lift her head, but it was to no avail. Her muscles were heavier than lead, her neck stiff and wings unable to flex from her back. Her nails dug into the stone in anger as she berated herself for being utterly useless.

"I did, but seeing as you are claimed -," He was cut off by her mother's heavy scoff and nearly bitter laugh. "Have I said something to amuse you, pet?"

"Aye, you damned fool. Bonding never mattered to you before – why choose _now_ to go back to customs? You _seemed_ not to hear my mother screaming for you to stop, or to see the fury in my father's eyes," Freya said icily. Her mother's rosewood scales turned nearly black as a shadow passed over her face. The flicker of challenge passed in her eyes, "So why now, _wyrm_?"

Nerthus frowned at her mother's statement, and she could only see the neck of the wyrm that stretched from the shadows. He was heavily decorated in gold and jewels, but his original scale color could be seen. He seemed to be made of pure shadow, or rather a mere extension of the shadows that loomed nearby. He cocked his head to the side in inquisition, jewelry laughing.

The wyrm's gold claw shot out and scratched her mother across the face, leaving oozing black marks on her face. Freya only snarled with a mask of pure wickedness on her face. Nerthus felt fear climb its way back into her chest to rake its claws across her heart. In her mind, she was screaming for this to be a dream but when her father howled in pain as he struggled against the chains, she knew it not to be a dream. She knew because her father had burns on his emerald scales in the shape of chains and the men below howled with laughter sending japes up at her father, who remained stoic despite the sizzling marks on his face. For a moment, she locked eyes with him and she saw the flickers of pain, worry, and heartache in their sun yellow depths.

She tore her gaze from her father to look into the eyes of the wyrm once more. His claws took her face, digging into her scales. She swallowed hard, finding his eyes almost sickening to look into. His gaze almost made her skin crawl, and she could not wiggle out of his grip to look away. His breath passed over her face smelling of death and smoke and her stomach flip-flopped in her gut.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice tiny.

"I want people to know what has come again," The wyrm said with a smile and he lowered his snout to her ear to whisper, "I want to let them know _I_ have come again."

* * *

_A/N:Greetings everyone! I have returned from the dead along with the New Year! Yes, say hello to Fire and Blood - the third and final piece to Coruwen's tale. As always, if you would like to follow me on Tumblr, please look me up as Flameangel24, I'd love to answer questions or just to hear from you. :) _

_Anyway, the same rules of Dragon Queen apply here: _

_-Flaming, or negative comments, are not tolerated in the review section. _

_-Constructive Criticism is welcomed, but if you deem it too harsh - Pm Me, please. _

_-If you have problem, please PM me. _

_And as always, if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a review, favorite, and follow or share with friends._

_May our adventure move onward! -Angel _


	2. Chapter 1

**~Chapter 1~**

_Vilya _

She never cried. His elder sister did not cry out once when Lannister curled around her with eyes flickering and claws glittering like tiny halos on his talons. Each time, he dragged his ebony claws across her pure white neck until sable blood leaked from the wounds. He could hear Nerthus growling, the curses that threatened to spill from her lips were silenced by Lannister raking his claws on her wings. When the old wyrm stalked off, Elathan would watch her pant with wings stretching wide as blood pooled at her feet on the silvery stone. He feared she would give over to that creature, that her body would give in and she would die.

Day after day it lagged on; the chains burned divots in his near-perfect scales with ugly blackened marks. He could not speak, stretch his wings, or move his paws without something rattling or singeing his scales off. He refused to listen to the whispers of the wyrm as he wrapped himself around Elathan's mother. Many times Lannister had attempted this, but Freya bit at his necklace, tearing open a large chunk of his ornaments. The wyrm had slashed Freya across the cheek for that.

A loud thump drew his teal gaze to Zorya. The emerald princess flailed, jaws tugging on the mithril chains about her neck. Elathan wished to stop her, but could not with the chains at his throat that dared to scar him. Through the darkness, Nerthus whispered, "Stop it, Zorya. A dragon cannot break Dragon-Metal."

Zorya did not stop until wisps of smoke rose from her jaws and the scent of metal and salt filled the air. His tiny sister cursed loudly in the command language, her jaws clenching tight enough to draw blood. Elathan was tired of seeing his family's blood on the floor. It settled into the stone in rivulets, and made the stone carry the stench of rotting flesh.

"I grow tired of seeing our kin's blood on the floor," Elathan lamented quietly as he turned to face his father. The chains burned his scales though he did not cry out. The urge to glance up at his father was strong, but he stopped himself. His father had been broken by Castamere; her talons had torn at his face.

"One day this shall be over," Heimdall said, his voice scratched. Despair flooded his chest. "How could I let this come to pass?"

Freya's wings lifted in the darkness of the cave. If there had been shadows, Elathan would have been enveloped by them now. Gazing up at his mother, he saw the fine lines of Lannister's claws upon her snout and across her chest.

"All light has darkness, husband. There will be light, I swear it," Freya stated with a strange, newly kindled confidence.

Elathan believed his mother, believed her words to be right. Light creates shadow. Shadow, one day, will fade when the light is gone. Though he wondered where his mother found such confidence in this time of darkness. His mother found his gaze, he saw her eyes brighten. He supposed it was a smile given unto him, though there was little telling what a smile was and what was a frown in the darkness. He shook his head, the heat of the mithril kissing his scales. It was dull now, a minor burn that barely made him flinch. He shook his head again…

"At least the Elf Maid does not have to suffer with us," Nerthus mumbled, her voice small. His sister's voice broke and in turn his heart broke. He could see the flicker of pain in her ruby eyes as they lowered to the floor. "I wonder if she is safe…"

"Glorfindel swore to me that he would keep her safe, and safe he will keep her," Freya stated in a voice that was firmer than stone. "She is safe in Valinor with her people… With her family."

"_Monah_," Zorya whispered. Elathan heard the sizzle of chain burning flesh and then the grating of claws on stone. Without glancing up, he knew who it was – Castamere. He saw the shadow of her swan like form pass above him as the moon glittered off of her back, but never once did he look up. He knew of the cruelty that was Lannister… He knew that he struck Castamere before them to make a statement. It did little to him; it was Nerthus, Freyr, and Zorya he worried for.

"I am sorry," Castamere said above them. Her claws snagged his chin to draw his gaze up to hers. Her eyes were sad, he noted as her claws dug into his scales like blades cutting paper.

"Castamere!" Lannister's voice broke the air, and she dropped his chin to let it slam to the floor. His teeth rattled and his head buzzed; his spine jarring with the feeling of stone upon his scales. Stone crackled, the sound of the wyrm returning from on high. His eyes flicked up, catching the silver beams of moonlight that reflected off of the golden choker and rings that painted Lannister's lengthy body. "Go break the eldest – I cannot penetrate his mind."

With a bow of her head, Castamere descended into the blackened forest below the heights of his mother's hold. Hatred boiled in his veins sending his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"Sweet Nerthus, how do you fare?" Lannister asked. Elathan was sure that his veins had caught fire by now with nothing restraining the feeling of fire from lighting up his muscles. His sister whimpered beside him. "Tell me, my sweetling."

"Leave her alone, Lannister," Freya warned, her amber eyes turning on the pale, sickly green ones of the wyrm lord. He did not regard her kindly and he moved toward Nerthus, stalking forward to grab a hold of her head. "Leave her alone, you foul snake!"

"She reminds me of you, my sweet queen," Lannister said, his eyes never leaving Nerthus'. Elathan's hatred boiled, his muscles becoming taut beneath the chains that spat in anger at him. "The way you _begged_ for mercy… And the howls of your pathetic father."

"Liar! Usurper and liar!" Freya yelled, thrashing around in her bonds causing the chains around her wings and neck to turn white. Lannister simply smirked in confidence.

"How you sound like Ancalagon…"

"You would know," Came Heimdall's cool voice. Elathan felt a shiver run down his spine despite anger roiling in his blood. The mist dragon's lantern gaze fell on the wyrm, and it was then that Lannister regarded the king of dragons. "After all, you broke him."

"With pride, you helpless whelp," The wyrm turned his claw around Nerthus' head and brought it down in a heavy crack upon the stone, forcing a cry from the princess. Gold ringed claws dug into the delicate scales of Elathan's sister, drawing lethargic drops of sable blood to mar the perfect, glittering gold. He drew back his claws and raised them to lick off the blood with his forked tongue. "You taste of your grandfather, for you were born of smoke and ash. Something I never grow bored of…"

Heimdall snorted mist out of flared nostrils in frustration. "Tell me, Lannister. Does it please you to hear the sounds of my mate's roar, or the cry of my eldest daughter? Does it sate the madness that hangs around you like a shroud?" His father's voice swelled as his pride grew taller, taller and mightier than the Lonely Mountain. And Lannister merely watched him as his forked tongue lapped the last bit of Nerthus' blood from his rings. "Was killing Ancalagon not enough? Was slaughtering your kindred not enough to sate the desires that poison you? What right do _you_ have?"

The wyrm let out a bout of raucous laughter until his voice was hoarse. When his laughter died, he grinned maliciously. "The only one… The one that Morgoth promised the day I took Aisha and Freya. My right to rule."

Freya let out a laugh of mockery, "You see this, my children? This wyrm cannot see past his own foolish desires!"

Her voice rang like a hammer upon metal. Elathan saw the clenching of Lannister's paws before him as he passed above him. Elathan moved his gaze to his mother and the wyrm when the scrapping of Lannister's tail ceased. They stared at each other, green and amber eyes lighting with unspoken anger.

"I would cut off your head, Freya, if it did not remind me of your charming mother," Lannister whispered, his claws coming to stroke the angles of his mother's face in turn as he spoke. "You possess her eyes and her shape, the turn of your nose, and the ridges above your eyes…"

And then something snapped within Elathan that made the boiling hatred rush free like a floodgate and he rose up on his feet, ignoring the hisses of the mithril that bound him to the floor. His heart pounded as he roared at Lannister, teeth clenching together so tightly that he tasted his own blood.

"Lay another claw on my mother and you will have me to deal with, snake!" Elathan howled, his wings jostling the chains on his back. Lannister turned on him, eyes unfazed by the outburst of anger. If he were bigger, as big as Freyr, he could rip the wyrm's head off and delight in such a morbid act. He would relish the crack of bones in his jaws, the sable blood of his people seeping through his teeth. If only he were stronger, bigger – like the soul that slumbered within himself. "No right do you possess to touch my sisters or my mother!"

Lannister grinned, a wicked flashing of teeth that only strengthened the hatred in Elathan's blood. "Aha, so there is fire in the mist." He glowered up at the wingless dragon, his muscles straining once again to hold his ground. "Tell me your name, dragonling."

"Elathan," He hissed out his own name, steam building in his chest as he spoke. "First of his name, White Prince of the Grey Mountains, and youngest son to the King of Dragons."

"Titles mean little to me, whelp. But let me tell you something," The wyrm slinked closer, vulpine snout touching Elathan's. "I am far older than you, stronger, far more cunning than any fox or lord, and know by simply gazing at you who and what you are."

He threw his head back, repressing a snarl. "Then tell me, _snake_. What am I?"

"A child… A mere child compared to the likes of me and my mate. You fear death, you fear fire, and you fear _me._" Elathan lunged at Lannister, his ivory claws tearing at the vulpine snout of dragon before him. With a howl, Lannister swatted him away and in the wake of his paw, Elathan felt the blossoming heat of the counterattack. "Fear makes heroes out of even the blind and lame. You are no exception, Elathan, son of Heimdall."

"And you are nothing more than a mad lord… I suppose fear makes you a giant amongst men as well."

The sickly green gaze of Lannister fell on him like a ton of stones. They glowed with loathing and in his voice, the emotion was laid bare. "I would break your wings for that, insolent whelp!"

Elathan snarled, "It would not change much… After all, you all ready broke my sister and tore at your mate to make a point. Why not make a small, harmless one? Oh wait," He drummed his claws on the blood streaked stone and cocked his head to the side. "That seems fairly impossible for you, because you have no idea as to how you would go about that."

Lannister shot forward and took Elathan's throat in his claws, but he made not a sound. His teal gaze locked with the wyrm's green one, and he hissed out steam. Within him, the soul of a fire drake awoke, roaring and flapping its great wings to create a hurricane of wind.

"Insolent child," The wyrm spat as the left side of his lips curled up in a near perfect snarl. With a huff of pale green fire, Lannister dropped him and whirled away to the edge of the hold, crying out for Castamere.

"How unoriginal," Elathan said and he laughed a laugh that was humorless. The mithril bit at his scales once again. Lannister turned one eye back to him, hatred aglow like fire. "Have your mate do what you cannot do yourself."

"Elathan, stop," Nerthus pleaded from beside him. He glanced back and gave her a look of sympathy. He was doing this for her and for their mother – for their family – and if it took him getting beheaded by the silvery lady of Lannister, then so be it.

Desperation tore at his chest when Castamere landed on the ledge, took one look at him, and then gave her mate a bow of her head. The mother of fell beasts shouted an order to the dead men that guarded the entrances, and they came running to his feet by her order. There were four of them – one at each chain – capable of lifting the heavy weight from beneath the great boulders that anchored the chains. With one chain in the hands of the men, Castamere took to the sky once again, motioning with her snout to a large clearing in the forest. He loped down the hillside, the chains burning him as his wings moved and his paws touched the ground. He glanced down at the dead men and beheld their gazes, icy like the grip that they once sat in. In a way, he pitied them. They were once free, just like him, and then bound to a lord and lady of unforgiving nature. The men ran to keep up with him when he saw the clearing just a few feet ahead.

And when he entered, he swore that he saw a reaper in place of Castamere. Her silver scales wavered in the moonlight, her face shadowed by the span of her leathery wings that stretched out to cast an inelegant doppelganger onto the burnt forest floor.

"You brought this upon yourself, son of Heimdall," Castamere said, her voice cool. He raised his head and kept it high as she spoke. "By invoking the wrath of my mate, I shall break what you hold dear first."

Elathan's heart sank as he thought of his sisters and his wings. He wondered which she would break, and how she would do it. Often he thought of his death as the days grew grimmer, he thought the chains around his body would be the end of him. And now here he stood, facing the possible death of his spirit. Despite the fear that surged throughout his body, he held his head high without faltering. Castamere watched him closely, her shadowed gaze boring into his own.

"What do you have to say, child?" Castamere demanded, leaping down from her perch to face him. A muscle in his throat tightened painfully as he kept her gaze held on his. The words that came spurting from his mouth were ones that his father would have called arrogant.

"Must you always follow Lannister's ruling?" Elathan asked. Castamere's eyes widened in shock, but he plunged forward. "I mean, yes, mates are supposed to listen to their other halves – but is bowing truly needed? You flinch when he talks, you kowtow when he approaches."

A snarl pricked up the side of her lips. "And what would a prince know of love?"

He scoffed, "Love? That is hardly love – I would call it domination, actually. If you upset him, he attacks you-,"

"Shut your mouth!" She reared up like a raging stallion, her wings buffeting him with ash and air that smelled of smoke. His attempt to back away failed as she landed heavily on her front feet, jarring the soft soil. She made her way toward him, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "You know nothing…" Her claws took his head and slammed it into the ground but it did not hurt; nothing compared to the feeling of satisfaction that radiated through him.

"Funny, I thought you'd be stronger. The amount of scars you have gives you a false sense of strength," He jeered with a smirk.

Perhaps his mouth would get him into trouble. No, he needed this; this sense of wit that made him who he was. His mother would have chastised him saying that he would never have a mate because of his insolence. A mate… He never needed one, he always had himself. And to be truthful, his inner voice was far funnier than any female could be.

"Unchain his wings," Castamere's voice broke his pride-induced reverie. Elathan grinned wickedly when the chains slid from his shoulders. At last, they could be free. Castamere's claw removed itself from his head so he could raise it to look at her. Her gaze had the yield of a stone with no bit of pity left. He had spent it all teasing her, which he was glad for now. With the pity and sadness gone, perhaps he could see her for what she truly was. At last, she unfurled her wings and pushed away from the ground, allowing her to hover high above him. "What now, little prince? What would you do to stop me?"

"Let me fly and I will show you," Elathan replied curtly. Castamere sneered, the bridge of her nose creasing as she did so. "It would not be fair if you simply hovered like that and left me to my own devices on the ground."

"For the hurt you let loose from your mouth, I will not give you any quarter."

He hunched down, prepared to take her head-on but was caught off guard when she dove at him without warning. His heart leapt to his throat, his limbs flailing to catch himself as the men below scattered like flies. The prince realized that she was biting at his throat, her back feet keeping him pinned. She rolled him with a kick of her back feet and soon his back was bare before her. The mithril became lead on his limbs, the adrenaline having now left his body. Elathan struggled, biting and pulling at the chains until he tasted his own blood again. Hot pain raced down his spine like a rocket, and he threw his head back, crying out. His ears became deafened by the crack of his bones and the beating of his own heart.

"You brought this upon yourself," Castamere's voice spat next to his ear. The crack resounded again signaling the pain to marshal at his shoulders where his wings sprouted. Trembling, Elathan shook his head as he tried to soothe the unfathomable pain that awoke in his muscles. Everything was bursting all at once; tears came to his eyes, his limbs buckled beneath his weight, his heart pounded ever so loudly, and his wings fell at his sides in throbbing heaps. He sucked in a strangled gulp of air as Castamere leapt from his back to circle around to his head. "Test me again, and I will be sure to break more than just your wings, princeling."

Elathan nodded as the necklace of chains about him chimed. Castamere departed him and he was left in the clearing to piece himself together. Twinges of fire laced lightning ebbed throughout his body, growing stronger and stronger until the tears slipped from his eyes. Over time, he could not tell what ached more – his ribs, his wings, or his pride. His mouth had gotten the better of him and he knew it. There was little he could do once he started. In shame and pity, he hung his head beneath his chin and asked himself – why?

* * *

_A/N: Oh Elathan... _

_If you want to follow me on Tumblr, look me up under Flameangel24. And as always, please favorite, follow, and review if you liked this! _

_Until next time! -Angel _


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_~Nenmírë~_

Her brother had been gone for days now, or perhaps it was months, she could not tell. The only thing she knew was that the sun was beginning to become veiled, the air had begun to turn bitter, and the cold was started to sting. Often, she spent moments in pain - sharp, burning pain. In fact, there was never a moment when pain did not course through her veins like man's fire in the trees. Perhaps, the song that the dwarves of Erebor sang pertained to her family now. They had lost their home, they had lost their birthrights. Nerthus opened her eyes to watch the playful moonlight dance across the planes of the floor. It swayed and whirled, painting her father's chained feet and her mother's – now scarred – face. Her mother had been fair of face once, just like her and Zorya, and now she was nothing. Nothing more than a heap of pity, shame, and fear.

Elathan often counted the days they had been ensnared in the trap of the Usurper. With him gone, she only remembered that this had taken a year at best. At best… Such confident words coming from a dragoness! A sigh escaped her, the fresh scars on her throat tightening as she moved to catch a pane of pure moonlight. Secretly, she wished to be like the moon's carefree gaze. She trembled, the thought of being free a distant memory.

"I wonder how Smaug fares," Zorya said in a low voice. Nerthus turned her gaze on her younger sibling, catching the bare worry in her eyes. Nerthus' heart clenched at the sight of her tiny sister lying so still. "He has no idea any of this goes on."

"Let free idiots be free," Nerthus rumbled, her voice raw and crackling like lightning. Zorya's eyes widened in shock – no doubt from surprise.

"You sound as though you have given up on hope, sister," Zorya's fanned tail tip brushed Nerthus' haunch, and the tiny spark of warmth kindled in her chest.

Though the spark died when a lance of pain jabbed at her spine, "I have…" Behind her, her father snored loudly and she had to raise her voice by a hair. "To have faith in hope is a fool's errand. We are doomed to die." Zorya cast her gaze down to the floor and Nerthus sighed, "Zorya, look upon me and tell me that I do not represent all of the suffering and agony our race has gone through."

Her sister looked at her at her request, her eyes sharp. Zorya's eyes flicked over the scars on her back, the dried blood on her wings, the cuts on her neck and chest, and then the mark on her face. Shame tore cut her deeply, deeper than Lannister's claws.

"You are right," Her sister's voice came to her ears in a mournful tone. And in the moon's gaze, her sister laid her head down. "We are nothing but whispers now."

"Aye, my daughters," Freya's voice startled the two of them from their shame. Nerthus stared up at her mother, bewildered. The fire in her mother's gaze was unquenchable. Perhaps that is why Lannister mumbled the words, _Queen of Fire_, in his sleep. "We may be whispers, but the whispers of our race are strong… And I tell you now what my father told me many, many ages ago."

"What is that, _Monah?_" Zorya's voice became eager for the first time in months. The two of them were dragonlings again with wide eyes and hearts that dared to burst with excitement.

"_Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor,"_ Freya said, her voice swelling with pride. And within herself, for a brief moment, the fire of pride sparked. Her mother's words were full of hope, hope for their race, and the possible hope for all races. Her lips quirked up in a tiny grin, but she hid it beneath the shadows that loomed over head. "Never ever forget that my daughters."

"We shall not, _Monah_," Nerthus heard her own smile in her voice. For the first time, there was not a single shred of grief in her heart.

~.~.~

Nerthus watched Elathan closely as he slinked into the room. She noticed that his scales were no longer white, but ashen grey. The scent of blood clung to him like skunk stink and his teal eyes were blood-shot. Her proud, fool of a brother was torn down from nothing. The dead men at their feet with their sickly green eyes tugged at the chain around her brother's wings and he growled low in his throat. As he passed her, Nerthus let out a purr of comfort but Elathan ignored her.

The dead men dragged their feet when they left Elathan, and Nerthus caught the signs of decay upon them. The archer that had dared to strike her with his arrows had lost both eyes to crows, and another warrior had lost an arm to a wolf. However the other man was different, flickers of white movement could be seen on his legs. Nerthus' stomach dared to make her retch, but she withheld any sign of weakness. It made her pride ache when she thought of how low they had been brought.

"Where is Freyr, _Monah?_" Zorya's little voice squeaked. Nerthus turned her gaze on her mother. Heimdall stirred beside her and raised his great head, yellow eyes blinking away signs of sleep.

"Lannister cannot keep him under control…" Freya's voice became thoughtful, or perhaps she was remembering. Either way, her mother shut her amber eyes and drummed her talons on the floor. "Time repeats itself, I am sad to admit."

"Grandfather," Elathan's voice broke the silence after a few moments in a tone that was heavier than stone. Freya opened her eyes and turned them on Elathan, giving him a solemn nod. Her brother's expression turned sour, "Foul wyrm… I hope there is a pit in the farthest reaches of Mandos for him."

"Watch your tongue, son," Heimdall scolded with a tiny snarl. Her father's eyes flicked above them to the top of the hold, where Nerthus guessed Lannister was. Her mind started piecing together ideas. Freyr was too big to fit in the room with them, or so she believed until now. If Freyr fought Lannister at every turn, then he would be killed. And if Freyr died….

~.~.~

Smaug stared at the glistening walls of Erebor. His gold eyes reflected pallid in the obsidian and green walls. To himself, he resembled his mother in strong likeness – the ridges above his eyes and the shape of his beautiful eyes were his mother's along with his strong upper limbs and broad chest. However, as he turned he saw his father in place of his mother. Smaug possessed his father's lengthy body and tail. His blood chilled as he remembered his father and his sickness. He was almost glad that the House of Turin had been his death. At the thought, he snorted out smoke and was followed by a cough below him.

Below him stood a descendent of Girion, a woman of twenty years. She tossed her dark brown hair while her golden eyes watched him closely. He did not know her name, and nor did he care. With his mother gone, he did not have to play nice any longer. However, the ellon beside her was a different case. The ellon was once the good right hand of Thranduil, but now was the ruler of Greenwood with what few elves remained this side of the sea. He was dark of hair and bright of eyes with a foul temper as great as Smaug's.

"Are you here to look at yourself or speak, Smaug?" Himon chastised, his fingers gripping the roaring wildcat pommel of his sword and rotating it uneasily. Unease settled in Smaug's blood when the woman's eyes flashed over to Himon, the gold becoming fire in her eyes.

"Like you have anywhere to go, elfling," The Girion woman snapped back. "Nothing has been attacking us of late. At least nothing note-worthy."

Himon shut his eyes, and reopened them with a terse smile creasing his face. "Well, might as well tell him seeing as he will not speak."

But before the woman could speak, Smaug started to feel a chill slither up his spine. His heart threw ice into his blood, freezing him solid to the floor before the great Dragon Door of Erebor. Wing beats reached his hearing like drums. Himon moved past him, his green cloak billowing behind him like the tail of a comet as he came to stand on the edge of the doorway to gaze up at the heavens.

"What is it?" The woman shouted, her voice filling the vaulted ceilings of the mountain better than any roar. Smaug had never worried before, for worry belonged to his little queen, but now that he felt the suffocating feeling and nearly choked on his own vocal cords. "Elfling!"

Himon whirled around, sprinting up to Smaug's paw to meet his gaze. The ellon's words came like a winter wind to his ears, "There is a fell beast flying above us. Why?"

"I do not know," Smaug answered gravely. He steeled himself; he removed the ice from his blood and worry from his mind to force himself to stand. His paws felt too large for his limbs, his tail was suddenly missing, and his bones felt like jelly. Despite the numbness that clouded him, he moved to the edge of the dragon door and saw the silvery, fish scaled beast dancing in the sky. Anger made his body become a blaze. His gold eyes turned back to Himon and the Girion woman. "Stay here and do not open this gate again until you hear me roar."

"Of course," Himon answered automatically. Smaug rotated his shoulders and let his wings flex. The wind beckoned him, calling his name sweetly like a lover and toyed with the bones in his wings just the same. With a hefty push, he threw himself into the sky and roared once to gain the attention of the beast as the door slammed shut with a bang.

The fell beast halted midair to focus its beady eyes at him. It did not lunge at him or move; it merely hovered and beat the wind with its wings. With a gurgle, it turned and flew northward, leaving Smaug alone with the wind at his command. He let out another roar, though this time much softer than the one before and the dragon door groaned open; the wide chains rattling and quivering. He poked his nose through the crack in the door as it opened and then bulled his way through the rest. Himon was alone in the lower level now, and Smaug stared him down, unsure of what all had transpired. He blinked slowly, his eyes never drifting from the floor to Himon.

"It flew off?" Himon murmured in question. He stepped into Smaug's line of sight and met his gaze, asking him. "What in blazes in going on?"

Smaug thought for a moment of a snippet in time many, many years ago. He had heard his mother say that Castamere had been seen in their lands, and that much he had witnessed. The Silver Lady of Lannister had come down from the Ice Bay near the Helcaraxë. Doubt surged through him, stirring and chilling his blood at the same time. Yet worry claimed him sooner. He gave a shake of his head in doubt, disbelief; any emotion that would not make what his thoughts conjured real.

"No," The Dragon Prince whispered, his head still lolling from side to side in disbelief. Himon narrowed his eyes up at him, but Smaug could not see what fueled the ellon's sharp gaze. "Earth Mother have mercy…"

"_What_ is going on, Smaug?" Himon bellowed, his thumb clicking open his sword. What good would a sword do to him? It was nothing, a mere needle. But Himon's voice had awoken him and he sighed, grey smoke rising from his nose.

Raising his head, he spied the auburn hair and blue dress of Himon's wife, Naruhel, as she descended down the steps. She stalked close to Himon and took a hold of his coat. Smaug had remained kind to Naruhel, despite her husband's foul temperament. And now, he was going to stay true to what bond he had forged with her.

With a snort of smoke and cough, he began, "The usurper of my grandfather's throne has returned. He has made his way to the northern lands, or so I believe. He had no right, by birth or claim, to hold onto my family's throne." The elves stared up at him in shock, but said nothing. He fidgeted, "If he has reached the Withered Heath, then my family lies in danger."

The words rang out, his voice a stone. Naruhel's face flickered with grief and Himon looked to the floor. Years – ages – of peace had gone on and there had been few disputes in Middle-Earth. To Smaug, it seemed befitting that Lannister would return _now_ of all times. His talons clicked on the stone, and his muscles began to itch as worry clawed at him. But below, the Lord and Lady of Greenwood were deep in thought, their hands clasped together like threads.

Clearing his throat, Smaug said, "There is little any of us can do against such a storm."

A muscle in Himon's jaw twitched and he separated from his wife, anger flaring, "How can you say that? Would you have us all die?" Naruhel reached out to Himon, but he snapped away from her and glared up at Smaug, who was amused by the little elf's great temper. It was greater than his own, he thought with an inner chuckle. "You are your mother's son! The least you could do is help her."

"I would if I could, but Lannister is ancient," Smaug replied swiftly, and caught Himon off guard. "Mother can deal with Lannister on her own. She has Heimdall."

It was Naruhel that leapt into the conversation before her husband, faster than light. "But what if she cannot? What if she is trapped?" The Lady of Greenwood clutched her hand over her heart. "Did Coruwen not see the field of fire and blood with Lannister sitting in its midst?"

"She did but -," Smaug stopped and snapped his eyes shut.

"But what?" Naruhel's voice was calm and quiet, though sharp. She glided forward, sky blue silk flying around her, mimicking tendrils of sea water. Her brown eyes met Smaug's, kind and gentle. Yet there was a deeply wound sadness as well. "Foresight is never true, and should never be taken to heart, yes. _However_," Naruhel placed her hand over her heart, palm flat. "There is a feeling I have, deep within, that tells me that if you sit idly – something terrible _will_ happen."

Himon scoffed quietly, "Nonsense, little fox." His wife whirled around; hands on her hips, and her husband physically flinched. "_If_ this lord called Lannister is real, and has captured Freya, we would have known."

Smaug's memory kicked into a gallop – stories, memories, voices all swimming in his head. He remembered his mother telling him a story when he was a hatchling, the story of, what his kindred called, The Fall. No one, not even the lords and ladies of his grandsire's court knew what had transpired until they lay dead in their holds. Images of dragons, dead and horror stricken, lay in his mind and made his heart beat loudly in his ears. Dragons were proud, they never sent for help and nor did word ever reach any other race in a timely fashion – not until it was too late. A frown pulled at his mouth.

"No, we would not, lordling." Smaug answered, his voice drawing the elves' gazes. A shadow passed over him. "Your wife is correct."

Himon hummed in response, "And what would _we_ do against your kind? You told me yourself that only thing that can hurt a dragon is either mithril or a chip in their scales. Neither of which we have access to." The lord growled and began to pace. His boots clicked on the floor, but sounded more like rocks tumbling down a mountain. "There are not enough elves to fight against the dragons."

"_You_ are not to do anything," Smaug rose, and turned to exit but Naruhel ran up to his foot and reached out to him, beckoning his nose to her. He complied; letting her rest her tiny hands on his nose. Her brown eyes were soft, for she had a kind heart; more gentle than her husband. "This is not your fight, my elleth."

Naruhel gave him a rueful smile, "I know… But I want you to be safe, great one."

"And safe I shall stay. I will return to you in Greenwood." Against his snout, Naruhel pressed a soft, motherly kiss and he purred in return. How kind she was to him, despite his brooding nature and foul temper. The elleth stepped back and he took to the air again, facing the northern lands. He rolled his spine, letting the air follow his command and guide him to his mother's hold. And he hoped, hoped dearly that he would not find what his mind had thought.

~.~.~

A dead man watched her, motionless and unblinking. Nerthus had spent hours simply staring at the dead man walking that guarded Elathan's set of chains. This one was different; he was swarthy – olive skin and oily hair that clung to this forehead with the same sickly green eyes as the others. His garb was odd, he wore linens around his body that reminded Nerthus of the elves but they were colored black and red with faint threading of a six pointed star. Laying her head down, she managed to sniff the odd man and nearly sneezed – he smelled of dust!

"Idiot," Elathan chided lightly and bumped the odd man in the backside. The man whirled, and sent his oily hair flying into his eyes. Her brother curled up the side of his lips slightly. "He is an Easterling from Rhun."

"Rhun?" Nerthus asked with a tilt of her head. Never before had she heard of Rhun, and it sounded foreign to her, unlike Gondor or Rohan.

Elathan rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Never mind."

"Elathan," Nerthus began, but stopped when Lannister came slinking into the hold. In a sudden burst, lightning flashed lavender in the sky followed by a bellow of thunder that rolled over the top of the hold. Lightning flickered again and allowed Nerthus to see Lannister for a brief moment. His scales were slick with water, which made him appear more like an overgrown fish rather than a dragon, and his eyes were shot with anger. Fear took her quickly as his gold-ringed claws graced her back haunches, and through her fear – she fought.

Nerthus had enough.

Her mother and father shouted her name, but her blood drowned them out. She swung her head into Lannister's chest with a heavy crack, sending him screeching back a few feet. But did not stop him from grabbing her head and slamming it down into the stone. Her teeth cut her mouth and she tasted blood. Emotions flared in her.

Hatred.

Fear.

_Pride. _

She would not bow; she would not yield to him any longer! Elathan had proven himself by cursing Castamere's existence, who had been his keeper and attacker. And she decided to do the same to Lannister with every bit of strength she had left, albeit little. Nerthus ground her teeth, set her back feet into the stone – despite the chains' groans of protest – and used her head like a pendulum again to crack Lannister upside the jaw. He grunted at the force and hissed. She snarled at him, her teeth catching the light of the storm.

"Insolent child!" Lannister bellowed, and at first Nerthus thought he roared in anger as well, but she was proved a fool. The limp body of a fell beast came tumbling into the hold, silver scales bloodied and smelling familiar to her. Lannister grabbed a hold of her in her stupor and raked his claws across her neck, drawing blood and creating blossoms of pain. "Castamere!"

The Silver Lady did not answer, but instead they all were greeted with a new face. Eyes of gold and scales of the purest crimson and cream watched Lannister darkly. The wind's shrill cry was music to Nerthus' ears and heart at the sight of her older brothers. Smaug and Freyr had come together.

"_You,_" Lannister spat, his voice became dark. "Scatha's son…"

"Did you miss me, you old lecher?" Smaug greeted in feigned welcome. The two princes landed beside the other, and took long strides toward the group.

"Smaug! Freyr!" Zorya cried, but Elathan hushed her immediately. Nerthus' heart gave out in joy. Freyr's tail snaked around the dead-men-walking and tossed them away before turning letting loose a jet of gold and crimson flame. Lannister's chest heaved with labored breath, and he said nothing.

"I knew you would come back… Mother always said it would happen," Smaug said, his voice sounding like a sonorous golden horn to her ears. Smaug had never been strong in her life and it was not unusual for her to loathe him. But now, she was ever so thankful that she nearly wept with joy. "I do not wish to know what you have done to my family, only know that it shall be I that takes your life."

Lannister's smile flashed in time with the lightning, "Is that so, whelp?" He asked, his voice sickly sweet. As Nerthus stood at the release of the mithril chains, Lannister's claw snagged her by the jaw. The wounds on her neck began to burn as the muscle stretched awkwardly and rills of blood trickled down her neck. "Scatha's foolishness did rub off quite a bit… What a shame he had to go and become sick with avarice. He was an old friend…" Nerthus could hear the malicious grin in his voice, and she swallowed thickly. "You did not wish to know what happened to your family… Well let me tell you."

"Lannister, stop," Freya's voice broke the air like the thunder over head. He turned his gaze upon her, and tsked. "Let my daughter go, or-."

"Or what, my goddess? What shall you do? You are weak," Lannister replied and it was then that Nerthus felt fear course through her like fire. With a kick and bite, she freed herself from Lannister's grip to fly to Freyr's side. The wyrm sighed dramatically, "Pity, pity…" Behind them, the air's drum sounded and Heimdall was the first to turn and face Castamere's dark gaze. "It is a shame, Smaug, son of Scatha; that I could not speak with you more. I see myself in you. Castamere, my sweet, you know what to do."

Nerthus did not have time to blink before Freyr roared and leapt into the air to clash with the fell beasts. Lannister's clicking claws drew her gaze and she opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped by Heimdall's deep throated growl. Staring up at her father, she saw another dragon in place of him. He snarled and his eyes became aglow with hatred. In a flash, her father leapt at Lannister with a strange swiftness that resulted in the two tumbling off the back of the hold in a mess of green and black scales.

"Come," Smaug said to her. She stole a glance up at him, meeting his golden eyes, and gave him a bump of her snout. He gave her a small grunt in return – an odd kindness – before ushering her off the side with Freya. However, Smaug's next words troubled her. "Can you not fly, little brother?"

"I have no idea, Smaug. Throw me and see if I fly," Elathan answered, and Nerthus rolled her eyes at her brother's sarcasm.

"I can certainly try," Smaug told him. A snarling mess came flying in front of her and Nerthus swerved to the side. She turned on her brothers and roared at the both of them. Smaug sighed shortly, "All right, fine! Climb on my back."

Elathan did as instructed and Smaug hefted himself into the air. Nerthus then looked to her mother, who hovered high above them with her gaze locked on the horizon. Dawn was beginning to break. She rose to Freya's side and caught the concerned, amber gaze of her mother.

"Where do we go?" She asked, worried.

Freya looked at her, the color gone from her face. "We must simply fly until we can no longer, my onyx."

* * *

_A/N: There is a small saying that came to me when I wrote this chapter: A downed dragon is a dead dragon. Well, I say, it maybe downed, but there is always family. Anyway! This story will have slower updates than The Sun of Winter, so if you want to read the very first part of Freya and Coruwen's story that took place during the Hobbit, please go check it out! _

_If you want to follow me on Tumblr: look me up as flameangel24. As always, please review, favorite, follow, and share with friends! _

_-Until next time! :) -Angel _


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_~Sleeper~_

Coruwen awoke with a gasp, her body shivering and her eyes frantically searching the room. As the darkness settled in her gaze, she came to the slow realization that what she had beheld was a dream, a type of dream that she had seen in a long time. She hugged the coverlet to her chest and she felt her hair slip over her shoulder. A sleepy sigh drew her gaze to her husband, who was – thankfully – still asleep. Her eyes traced the freckled moonlight that waltzed across the expanse of his back and in his hair like strands of ribbon. Reaching out, Coruwen ran her fingers through his soft gold hair before letting it run down his spine. His skin was warm, pleasantly warm like that of the sun hitting one's skin in spring. The hand that had sought her out curled back to his chest.

All the while, her skin felt foreign on her bones, her body was sluggish. For a brief moment, she thought of touching Glorfindel's feä to wake him, but instead she thought it best to force herself back to sleep. Pulling the coverlet back over herself, she snuggled in its warmth and shut her eyes in a failed attempt at sleep. And after a while she forced herself down, her mind wandered. Coruwen wondered why she had suddenly seen Freya, her dragoness who lay across the sea, now of all times when it seemed that all had been well. Did it mean something? Did this mean that Lannister was on the rise? Her heart kicked into a gallop in her chest at the thought of him. On the backs of her eyelids, she forever saw the horror on Freya's face, the fire die in her amber eyes and the storm light the gauntness of her face. There was fear there. Never before had she seen Freya _afraid_; it simply was not in her nature.

Coruwen opened her eyes and studied her husband's face. He was unguarded when he slept, leaving her to trace the simple features he possessed. Her fingers remembered the feeling of his skin and the scars, but they hardly remembered his face. They ran over his cheekbones, the point of his nose, the firm line of his jaw, and the tips of his ears. Her mind recalled a moment for her as she did this. Glorfindel had been afraid of touching her intimately, afraid that he would hurt her. And she had told him that she had dealt with Thorin, who had the same warrior training as he, and not once did he hurt her. Coruwen smiled at the memory, thankful that she remembered that side of him; the side of the lord and commander. Her hands froze up when they ghosted his lips.

It was then that she decided to leave the room.

A smile of knowing came to her face when she found her night gown hanging from the vanity mirror. As she pulled it on, she thought of how long they had been bond-mates. A few hundred years by the count of the hobbits, one might have guessed. With a hum, she found a warm robe and set out for the parlor. The walls seemed to glow under the winking crescent moon and the gold of the sun tapestry that hung in the hall reminded her vaguely of her lady aunt's hair. The silk of night gown clung to the back of her legs when she stopped before a bay window to look out into the frozen world that lay near the feet of Tirion. The snow glistened like sky blue crystals despite the sky being formed of studded dark velvet.

A jingle drew her gaze over to the sofa before the brick hearth. On the plush dark cushions was Ranna, Glorfindel's half-wolf dog that was a gift from Ecthelion and her cousin, Turgon. The dog was dark grey tipped with white and sharp eyes that blinked curiously at her in the darkness of the parlor. Ranna's bulky shadow stirred briefly, a great shadowy blur with topazes for eyes.

Coruwen walked up to Ranna, who flattened her ears and knew better than to be sleep on the sofa. In all honesty, she could care less now. Sighing, she sat at Ranna's head and then shifted so that she lay with the young pup at her side. Ranna groaned, touching her cold, coal black nose to her lady's hand.

"Ranna," Coruwen started softly as she toyed with the dog's ears. They were soft and warm like a kitten or blanket. "I saw her, I saw my Freya once more. But she was not herself. She was covered in blood and her children were in danger, all of them – even Smaug."

Ranna shut her eyes as Coruwen scratched her ears more and then into her soft, yet bristly, fur. "I think he may have come back… After all these years. It has not been since Grandfather's time that Lannister has risen in such a way." She gave a shake of her head, "I hope it was merely a dream."

"If you do not believe it was, my love," A deep timbre voice said from the shadows of the hallway. Coruwen sat upright to look at her husband as he passed under a pane of moonglow. He looked down at her kindly, his body wrapped in a robe of silver. "I am surprised you are out here."

"Why do you say that?" Coruwen's voice became terse for a brief moment, and Glorfindel's feä brushed hers like a cat against someone's leg. Ranna glanced up at Glorfindel, tail thumping loudly against the cushions. Glorfindel rounded the sofa, clicked his tongue for Ranna to move, and then sat at her hip.

"You never leave me unless you are upset. And to add insult to your case, it is bitterly cold out here." She gave him a shake of her head, choosing to ignore his statement, but he laid a slender hand on her upper thigh. His touch made her heart kick up into a sudden race. "You cannot hide much from me, you know."

"There are days I forget," She smiled humorlessly. Before she lay back, he settled behind her, where her back met his chest. His fingers began to toy with her long tresses, gentle like a soft gale. Her voice came as a breath, "You know that I used to see through the eyes of Freya, yes?"

"Aye," Glorfindel answered, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. "Though once you said that you were outside of her… But that does not seem to be the case here."

"No, I was one with her. I-I felt her and I saw the dragonlings – everyone. Himon and Naruhel as well." His arms wrapped around her middle with his hands pressed against the V of her hips to create a subtle heart. Her fingers ghosted over his scarred hands and then his wedding band. In her mind's eye, the imprint of Nerthus and Elathan being covered in blood – whether their own or not – flickered lazily. Leaning back, she let her head touch his shoulder, stress building in her chest. "They all had been tortured, they now all have scars, and their eyes were wild. They do not look proud."

"What could have done that?" Her eyes closed when his lips brushed her temple. There was dripping concern in his voice, and it rippled from him into her. He, too, had loved Freya and her kindred. And they had loved him; let them into their world under Coruwen's protection. Her chest began to ache when the coil of fear and concern wormed its way around her. His feä quickly surrounded hers when he came to kiss her mouth softly. Her eyes tightened as the coil started to burn, and he released her without a word. Mutely, she rested the crook of her face against his neck to hopefully loosen the pain. But it did nothing, her chest only became tighter. He pursed his lips and fixed his sapphire gaze on Ranna. "You told me once that you had seen a lordling wyrm named Lannister upon a field of blood and fire… Could it be that he has returned?"

The coil abruptly unwound to strike at her heart, forcing pain to bloom there. Her eyes snapped open to regard him. His eyes looked onward, never moving from the glittering panes of moonlight in the room. Coruwen shook her head, and curled into his chest, "I hope to Eru he has not."

"And what if he has?" Glorfindel bowed his head to the crook of her neck, inhaling softly against her skin. Her fingers tried to rise and touch his face, but could not. They seemed to be filled with iron, each ligament becoming stiff and painful. "Coruwen…?"

"I do not know…" Her words came out in a whisper but quicker than lightning, drawing from her husband a deep sigh. Faintly, she tried to picture the foresight image of Lannister. His eyes were green, a sick green that glowed in the deepest darkness, and his roar could rival any of the beating and chanting that the orcs could muster. She remembered his scales, blacker than ink, and how they looked like a fish's. Though her mind could not recall every detail, she shivered nonetheless. "Glorfindel, I cannot say – nor do I know – what would happen if Lannister chased Freya."

"Would he kill them?"

Regrettably she nodded, "More than likely."

His eyes became azure fire, but not a single shred of anger touched his voice. "Then the line of dragons would fail." Again, she nodded. "How long must we wait?"

"Wait? Wait for what?"

He motioned at the sapphire teardrop at her throat, and she raised a hand to touch the arching lines of silver. "How long must we wait for another dream?"

"I do not know. This is the first time that Freya has let me see through her eyes since we left Middle-Earth. If Freya _does_ let me see again, I will not leave you in the dark."

~.~.~

Ice crunched underfoot to mask his senses as the world around him shifted. The murky grey underbelly of the sky whirled but never vanished from his sight. Icicles upon trees tinkled in the harsh wind, throwing bits of ice and snowflakes into his hair and eyes. His eyes flicked around the forest, the barren snow and trees giving him more of an advantage than he believed at first. He could see everything – or anyone for that matter – moving. Glorfindel could pick out Turgon, his dark hair, boiled leather, and clinking mail all apparent to his senses. He also found Ranna, Ecthelion, and shortly thereafter Fingon. He was the only light haired one of this hunting group, but he guessed it was better to have this lot rather than Coruwen's hot tempered uncles, Aegnor and Angrod.

Bushes rustled to his left and Ranna wheeled around, icy eyes peering down at the bush. His boot had rustled it… Ecthelion moved to his side and once he saw that it was him, he shot him a searing glare. Glorfindel saw Turgon and Fingon creep forward with Ranna while Ecthelion watched the skyline with his bow slung from his shoulder. He was not himself – that much he knew off the top of his head. Coruwen's feä had shrunk back from his, a mere dwindling presence when compared to how strong she was with him. It was that confounded vision, it-,

Ranna's howl shattered his thoughts. He plunged through the snow in the direction of the howl, hoping that she might have found something. If it were something small, his extended family would laugh at the group. Anger tore at him when he thought of how Aegnor and Angrod had boasted that it only took the two of them to hunt an animal. He nearly tripped on a risen, gnarled root when he came to Turgon's side.

"What did she find?" His voice was hoarse from the cold, breath steaming. Turgon's sapphire eyes narrowed at Ranna, who had dove her head into a thicket of thorn bushes.

"A hare from the look of things," Ecthelion answered, his tone dangling on the edge of defeat. "Some hunting hound, she is."

Turgon bunted their friend with the end of his sword, earning a glare from the younger lordling. Glorfindel smirked at Ecthelion's feigned hurt, his hand covering his ribs and a look of pain gracing his features. He turned back to Ranna's waving tail, and suddenly she wrenched back from the bushes with a tiny deer in her jaws. It was an adolescent by its nub-like horns and fading spots on its back. Crimson water fell from his pet's eyes as the song of blood filled her lungs. Along with Turgon, he rose and pulled Ranna free of the deer, its onyx eyes flashing with horror and pain.

His once-king nudged him toward the deer, motioning once with his eyes. His eyes told him all: _kill it_. His heart slowed for a fragment of time in his chest, hesitating to pull the dirk from his belt. Gleaming, black eyes stared wildly up at him in a silent plea for death. It would face little pain after this… His dirk leapt free of its sheath with a hiss, coming to strike the creature's neck in a quick flourish.

Images flew to the forefront of his mind as blood seeped from the deer's neck into the snow and onto its tawny coat. Rain and thunder rattled the air, air that cried out as wings commanded it for supremacy. Blood, blacker than night, shone upon black scales and fear in ruby red eyes while a roar tore at the air.

"Glorfindel?" His name was being called, and someone shook him lightly. Blinking, he looked over at Turgon and Fingon. Though brothers, they appeared different now. Turgon was gifted with a sterner face – face hardened by severe amounts of grief - and sapphire eyes. Fingon, all the while, was of softer features than his brother and his eyes were a blue-grey. But now, they both watched him.

"How do you fare, brother?" Turgon asked in a tone brimming with genuine concern. He clasped Turgon's gloved hand, looking from the deer to the crimson snow. "You look as though you have beheld a ghost."

"Perhaps I have," Glorfindel admitted thickly. A cord in his throat tightened painfully as the images dared to rise again, but he forced them down. Fingon gave the order to Ecthelion to take the deer back to the horses, and rose to come to his right side. They both studied him now like hawks watching a mouse. "It…It was Coruwen."

Those words were all it took for Turgon's eyes to dark to shadowed sapphires, but he continued despite it. "She saw Freya, the queen of dragons, who lies in Middle-Earth. The queen and her children have been attacked… They all are bleeding, scarred, and tortured. I cannot say that I know of my wife's dream to be true, but…"

"You feel it," Fingon finished, hands toying with the elegant pommel of his sword. He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Ai, Coruwen… Are you sure this is not some mere figment of her imagination?"

Glorfindel's tongue withered, "I do not… Freya entrusted me with her safety, for they shared a bond as strong as the one I have forged with her. Their bond allowed Coruwen to _see_ into Freya's mind and through her eyes."

It was Turgon that interjected next, his voice low, "Are you saying that the bond became void at one point?"

He nodded, "When Coruwen left with me, she ordered Freya to destroy the amulet that bound them together. And with the amulet, Coruwen gave up the dragon-sight and many other things. It is not until now that Freya's sight has returned." Fingon turned abruptly and began to pace a rut into the snow. "What are you thinking about?"

"Tis mere nonsense," Fingon hissed. In that moment, Turgon and Glorfindel bristled, their gazes narrowing on the pacing ellon. When he caught their gazes, Fingon halted mid-stride, eyes wide. "Both of you?"

"Ellith are known for having foresight, brother… This you know, and yet you deny it."

"That is not foresight!"

Glorfindel clenched his hand into a tight knot as anger stirred his blood into a raging wildfire. The rising voices of his family were drowned out by the sound of fire-laced blood pounding throughout his body. At first, he had not believed his sweet wife but as the day had progressed and her concern bled over, his disbelief morphed.

"Enough!" Glorfindel shouted above his lady wife's cousins. A flurry of birds burst from the trees in a chorus of excited chirps. They both stared at him with wide eyes. He, too, had shocked himself with such a tone. It had shaken the air far more than he had intended. He dropped his voice, "Whether or not you believe her, believe _me_. It has never struck me to kill an animal before, possibly a warrior of our kin. But, now…" His mouth felt dry and his throat was closing. "Now I hesitated…"

"Glorfindel," Turgon regarded him beneath hooded eyes. His blood froze in his veins. "I am coming home with you. I need to see my cousin."

~.~.~

Horses threw back their heads in anxiety, manes tossing in the bitter wind that was laced with ice. Above them the sky swirled more and more, taking on the appearance of a maiden's twirling skirts. Throwing their hoods over their heads, the group split once the bet had been won by Coruwen's uncles. But Glorfindel had let the world pass him by in those early moments. All he wanted was to see his lady wife and ensure that she was safe, and Turgon was of the same mind. Fingon had not cared for what he had said, which was no surprise. He had not told Ecthelion or his wife's uncles, for if the latter knew, Finrod would know faster than he could breath.

He spurred his horse forward away from Tirion with Turgon's horse trailing after him. His home lay at the foot of the mountains, as his wife had asked when they married. In his heart, he knew it to be a reminder of Erebor and the race that she could no longer be amongst. But he was more than happy to place a home near the mountain for it reminded him of Gondolin. The land seemed to climb high to the peaks of the mountains now as snow had fallen. Thick halos of mist covered the ground as they traversed a low gully that sat just before the long slopes of the mountain where his home sat.

"Tis too quiet for my liking," Turgon murmured, breaking his thoughts. "Typically, I can hear her singing."

His chest burned all of a sudden. Turgon was correct; he did not hear his lady wife singing or any noise coming from the home – the only movement was from the chimney where large billows of smoke rose. Ranna barreled past them as a grey-black blur and threw their horses into a full gallop. As the horses skidded to a halt, snow flew out from under their feet in a flourish of white. He swung down from his horse's back while Ranna scratched at the base of the door. Opening the door to his home, he was welcomed by silence. Fire hissed and spat in the hearth, polishing the white brick with amber. Ranna padded up to it, sniffed once, and recoiled as an ember popped.

"Coruwen!" Turgon's voice rang out like steel kissing steel. His feä leapt free, searching for his wife's own feä that was not greeting him. His cousin glided past him down the hall to the library and then his study. "Where would she be?"

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes, his feä still searching, clawing for a tiny sliver of her. Like a kindling spark, her feä rose and he grabbed a hold of it and followed it down the hall to their bedchambers. Upon an embroidered, cobalt coverlet, his wife lay with her hands clenched it, white knuckled. She was writhing, her eyes squeezed tight and her back arched high off of the bed.

"Coruwen, wake up," Glorfindel grabbed her shoulders and held her down, her face mere inches from hers. "Turgon!" Her cousin appeared at his side, taking his place as he moved to her head. Gently, he let his feä spin free of his mind to find hers, and for a moment, the feeling that made her writhe climbed under his skin, burning. She was remembering Freya's vision from earlier, and she let it continue to wreck her. His feä grabbed a hold of hers and dragged her back to the confines of his mind. Relief washed over the both of them like tide upon the shore.

Turgon looked at him, the color gone from his face. His wife had lost all sense of fight in her body and now laid limp in their grip. Her skin was slick with sweat, but cold and her hair clung to her in frizzy, unkempt waves. He smoothed them down as Turgon sat at her hip, taking her hand in his. Glorfindel saw the feral protectiveness glowing in his cousin's eyes like sapphires set before a fire.

"_Anniel_," Turgon whispered, his thumbs running over her slender hand. "Coruwen, please… Wake up."

Glorfindel nearly shuddered at the crackling of Turgon's voice. His fingers carded through his wife's hair with the small hope that she would wake when she felt him nearby. Why was she not waking? _Why?_

~.~.~

Heimdall bore his teeth at the ebon wyrm, whose ornaments glittered as the light of dawn shattered the night like a great lance. Hours upon hours he had fought this wyrm, felt his anger pour out of every muscle until they shook. His wife had to escape, she had to! For the sake of their race and their children, Freya had to escape. If it was meant he died here, with this lordling, then so be it!

"Give up, mist child!" Lannister hissed, his teeth flashing at him, blacker than night from his own blood. "If I die, then Castamere will make my legacy live on and on, for eons. There is not a place on this earth where you can hide…"

"Is that what you want? The genocide of your people?" Heimdall barely recognized his own voice now. It was a rasp, his throat raw from Lannister's neon green fire that leapt to bite his back feet. And there was anger, ravaging, biting, anger.

"They _all_ betrayed me!" Lannister's green eyes flashed as he roared. Dawn coated his golden necklaces and rings with orange fire. He lowered his head to snort out greenish-grey smoke. "Every last one of them… Ancalagon left me after Glaurung was slain, and he took up his sweet lady wife as his advisor. And then there was Saturos and his wife, who were the first to name me _mad, insane, out of my mind!_" His voice dropped to a low husky rasp, "I took their heads for that… With their whelps watching, and once their parents heads rolled I cut their throats."

Heimdall would have retched if there was any food in his stomach. Lannister leapt onto a stone, his chest puffing out in pride like an overgrown raven. "But I suppose once word flew around that I did that, they would hate me… Or fear me. I would even say that it is better to be feared than loved."

Heimdall's bones trembled as the lordling looked at him darkly. All round him, fire blazed in tongues of sickly green shot with goldenrod yellow. He could fly; yes he could and leave this damned lord here to be with his family. Never removing his gaze from Lannister, he sluggishly opened his wings.

"And then I found Aisha… Sweet, beautiful Aisha," Lannister gazed over at him, a darkness clouding his eyes. "You know of the King's queen, false one. Freya's mother, who-,"

"Who you ravished without consent," Heimdall snapped, steam building in his chest. "I know. You did it to my wife and my daughter many a time. And to be honest, I do not care of your little adventures. I am a Mist Dragon of the Withered Heath, King of Dragons, and Husband to the only thing you ever loved!"

And then a strange emotion threw Lannister into a rage. He opened his maw to let green fire pour forth like the tide over the sand. Heimdall grinned; he had hit a nerve, bare and festered. He lunged at the sky, wings spreading as the air cradled him to a safe height. Lannister glowered up at him with wisps of fire slipping free of his lips.

"And you will never have her," He added as he let loose a proud roar. The heavens trembled with him, letting dawn finally break the blanket of night and he stood in its wake, the sun warm against his back. He had missed the sun's warm kiss, and he relished in feeling it again. The air tumbled with him, guiding him to his mate and all of his children – where ever the winds had taken them.

~.~.~

Glorfindel washed Ranna's face with a wet cloth to remove the blood from her jowls. Turgon sat at the hearth, turning a dagger over in his palm over and over. Both of them had waited in silence for hours. Coruwen had not awoken, though she would fidget and whimper as if she was hurt. At one point, she had screamed so loud that it made ice form in his veins. What perturbed him further was the emptiness he felt in his heart.

"I will check up on her," Turgon said as he started to move toward the hallway. Glorfindel rose, shaking his head as the ice started to melt in his veins. His wife's cousin contorted his face in confusion. In his soul, he felt her stir. The feeling was familiar to him, the feeling of muscles stretching to awaken themselves. He stared down the hallway, ignoring the shadows that played on the walls or the glitter of the setting sun. He _felt_ her, heard her, and knew she was awake now by some strange grace of Eru. "Is she-?"

"Aye," Glorfindel managed through the haze of disbelief. The creaking of the door made Ranna rush past him to the door. His wife's calm voice touched his ears as she told Ranna to back away. And in a moment's breath, he did not know who moved faster, him or Turgon. They both moved for Coruwen, who smiled wearily at them both. He, thankfully, grabbed a hold of her waist to pull her close to him. Her sky blue eyes blinked up at him, "Coruwen, my dearest one… Are you all right?"

She nodded, "I am awake now, my love." She stole a glance at Turgon, who was smiling at her, the signs of clear relief on his noble face. "Turgon, why are you here?"

"Glorfindel spoke to me about your vision, cousin." Turgon began, but his wife's smile fell in an instant and with it, his heart. Something deep within said there had been another. "Is everything all right?"

Coruwen shook her head, "No, I did not see another vision, but I let it continue from earlier this morn. Freya and her children fled. Heimdall remained behind to fight off Lannister, and the latter – he… He explained how he became known as _mad."_

Silence crashed down on them like a stone. Ranna even fell silent, wiggling and wagging no longer. Glorfindel quietly rested his chin on his wife's head as tremors shook her wildly. Her willowy frame pressed up against him, and he mutely dropped a kiss into her hair. He wanted to hope that the visions were dreams now, but a larger part of him told him that it was wrong to believe such thoughts. They were _quite_ real, and somehow far from over.

* * *

_Ah, about bloody time I got to Coruwen, eh? Sorry this took forever to come out... I have tendinitis and it decided to flare at a nasty, nasty time. Anyway, you probably noticed Ecthelion of the Fountain, who was a lord of one of the houses of Gondolin. And you also notice Fingon and Turgon, who are Coruwen's cousins through her Great Uncle Fingolfin, who we will be seeing in later chapters. Now, I had to go off what the Silmarillion had on Turgon, Fingon, and Ecthelion, so it may be slightly different than what other people have written about him. _

_Fact: Since their bonding, bond-mates can sense each other in a sort of telepathic sense. If this is wrong, correct me. _

_I want to thank the few of you that are following me on this adventure, and as always, please Review, favorite, and follow! _

_Until next time, _

_-Angel_


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

_~Ties~_

"Freyr is missing," Nerthus declared as they flew along the edges of Ered Mithrin. Somehow, it bothered Smaug in a way that he had not felt since that damnable Black Arrow pierced his breast. There was an air here he did not care for. It was _too_ easy to slip away from the dead men and the others. The thought of the dead men made him shiver. His little brother made his back ache as he wriggled around, his broken wings flopping around like limp ropes.

"Who cares?!" Elathan shouted over the wind. He muttered next, "Bloody _Monah's_ boy."

"How can you say that? He is your brother!" Freya scolded, hovering closer to them. Smaug saw the scars on his mother now; the silvery, stretched scales where Lannister had cut her with his talons. They were everywhere his eyes landed: on her snout, her chest, her feet, and even on her back nearest her wings. His mother turned a harsh glare on Elathan, who was unabashedly gawking at her_. Little, proud bastard,_ Smaug thought with an inward roll of his eyes. Freya grunted, black smoke flying from her nose, and turned back to Zorya, "Find your brother, and do _not_ let yourself be seen!"

Zorya dipped her head and dove down into a canyon. Smaug had taken note that Heimdall had not followed them, nor had the old man been seen lately. Perhaps Lannister had gotten to him. If the lordling did, then the Earth Mother bless the king for trying to kill him. Had Smaug not been tasked of carrying the tiny dead weight he possessed of a brother, he would have followed Heimdall into battle. He wanted to feel the song of battle again.

"Oi, baboon, down," Elathan said with a flick of his tail. Smaug huffed and hoped that they would reach the Ice Bay on the other side of the Misty Mountains swiftly, Though they had escaped quickly, he was all ready becoming fed up with Elathan's massive ego. If they found Freyr, he would dump the squirt on him. Growling, Smaug landed on a high plateau that overlooked the great expanse of Ered Mithrin. Deftly, Elathan slid down from his back to lie down in a moving patch of sunlight.

"Smaug!" Mother called over Elathan's quiet muttering. He turned to her; her nose pointing over the rising spires of the Misty Mountains. He arched his back towards the mountains and flew off.

~.~.~

"You could at least be grateful he carried you thus far," Freya scolded with a snap of her tail. Her youngest son's eyes watched; shades of teal and turquoise glimmering in the midday sun. Her heart shuddered at the reminder he placed before her – one that none had dared explain, it was one she did not have to speak to see. His wings… His wings were a torn, scabbed over mess of tears and jutting bones and webbed, leathery skin. They never settled correctly on his back since that time many months back when Castamere had broken them. Weeks of lying in chains grounded to a forest floor made them repair themselves awkwardly. Certain bones rested on his back and others arched into an almost painful position that made her shoulders burn.

Elathan's scoff made her look up to his angular face, "He could have left me to die for all I care. I would be of more use that way," His teal eyes darkened, "Yes, _Monah_ I know what you think. But I am no fire drake; I am a mist dragon in the exact likeness of Bormah. What use am I?"

"You have the soul of one, Elathan," Freya replied, keeping the kindness from her voice. Elathan scowled at that. "You never needed others to live… Freyr and Zorya have needed me all their lives, but you and Nerthus are of another breed. Mayhap, the two of you will one day be king and queen."

"I am _not_ marrying my sister," His voice was sharp, just as hers once was as a dragonling. She smiled wanly. "Smaug would be a better king!"

"Smaug is testy like a dwarf. All he has cares about is living under his rock," She watched Zorya's emerald scales dart into anther canyon. "He may be the eldest out of the four of you, but he is no king."

"He says he is." Elathan regarded her with a neutral expression – something he had mastered as a whelp. He was always the cocky one, but the smartest and quickest. Zorya may be smaller than he was, but he would always be the smartest and sharpest.

Freya smiled, "A being that calls himself king is no true king." She thought of Aragorn and Thorin; men that lived by example. "Have I ever said that I am queen? That I have the right above all others?"

"Nay, you have not. You have acted rather than boasted like an over pompous puffin." Freya grinned at his words, the scars on her back itching slightly. Her pale son crossed his feet over the other, a faint reminder of herself. "You have lived amongst kings all your life – we have not. How would we know any better than say, a rock?"

"Aye, little crystal…. I have lived through the ages to see such kings as Dain Ironfoot and Aragorn live to greatness. And I have seen them fall to the darkest reaches of hell; men such as Thorin Oakenshield and your Grandsire. But kings and royalty come through example, not through words as I said."

Elathan grinned wryly, "I would be a _terrible_ king."

"Why is that?"

"I would order that all of the books of the world be mine and I would never come down off of my rock." His claws clicked on the stone like little harps. "Cold blood and all."

Wind howled between them to welcome a yawning maw of silence. Freya faintly began to think about crossing the Grinding Ice, or what was left of it, to reach Aman. If she could Coruwen and Glorfindel, she would possibly be safer or at least her babies would be safer. She had to keep the line of Ancalagon alive – she _must._ Her strong, handsome father would have wanted it. Her heart quivered, Nerthus was given his image. Ebon scales and ruby eyes. The only thing she lacked was the strong frame that Freyr was gifted with. Memory bit at her heart when she thought of her father. He was the _true_ king. And dragons followed kings, not queens or advisors. If the nine lords and ladies of the houses still stood, she would have had to give her throne over to Smaug when he was but a whelp. And if Smaug ruled over them. A shiver trickled down her spine.

She found herself looking at Elathan more. His jewel like eyes scanned over every rock and tree, crevasse and pebble for sign of his brother. Had he been gifted with a fire heart, he would have been a prize amongst any dragoness. Black was common as red or gold. Since her babies were part mist dragon, they were a great hue of colors. But white was not a color either of them had noted amongst Heimdall's kind. Elathan was the only White Prince.

"_Monah_," Elathan said, his voice dancing close to worry. She looked up at him, and found that his gaze was on the break of dawn that glittered on the horizon. But a shadow blocked it out. Freya hauled herself to her feet with eyes narrowed on the inky blot. The powerful wings and the glitter of the scales… No. Heimdall had fallen. He had tumbled off the cliff with Lannister.

"Heimdall!" She cried out, racing toward his landing form. Her snout connected with his and she rumbled low in her chest. His wings curled around her shoulders, but wafted the scent of metal and of the rancid odor that often followed after Lannister – the scent of decaying flesh. But she did not care in that moment, she stood before her husband, greeting him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, my Fire-Scales. I am well," Heimdall replied quietly. She backed away from him, catching the faint glimpse of Elathan bowing his head to his lord father. "Where are my other children?"

"Looking for Freyr," Elathan replied dryly. "Seems the sunspot got himself lost."

"Sunspot? There is love in your voice, my son," Heimdall chuckled as he laid down in the shade of a rocky spire. She gazed at him for a moment; his emerald scales were tarnished by soot. His fire had touched her husband… Perhaps, even they were not safe anymore. The mortality of dragons was waning… Her heart swelled at the mere thought. If they could reach Aman, she would see her again. Her little one and her golden lord were safe there. "You think that Aman shall save us?"

Freya blinked, "Mayhaps it will, husband…"

"Such confidence, _Monah," _Elathan chimed, but she turned a glare on him before he could continue to run his mouth. "What makes you think we will even run that far? After all, the Grinding Ice is where Lannister's hold is."

"Aye, but he seems rather taken with our hold in the Heath as it stands," Freya corrected, settling beside Heimdall. "If we can gain the trust of Coruwen's family…"

"The elves stand no chance against our kin. Grandfather was only able to be defeated and given peace because Thorondor aided Earendil," Her son flexed a mangled wing. "The elves do not have access to enough mithril or the smiths that know how to temper it properly."

"Celebrimbor would, he is a cousin of Coruwen's."

Heimdall arched one eye ridge, "Aye, Fire-Scales, but has the smith of the elves returned? If he has not, well... Need I continue?"Heimdall gestured to the direction in which he flew from. "Possibly another smith..?"

"I do not know of any other smiths, my love."

Freya tapped her claws on the stone with her gaze held on the stone. Above her, Zorya hovered and let out a cry. Raising her head, Freya looked to her emerald daughter and saw her gesturing to the west, over the climbing spires of the Misty Mountains.

"_He lies in a cluster of ruins,_" Zorya said. Sighing, Freya stood and launched into the air while Heimdall took up Elathan on his back. Upon letting out a cry, Smaug and Nerthus rose from the crevasses below to follow Zorya. In the pit of her stomach, Freya hated following her daughter to the ruins. There was something amiss about her eldest that she could not pin down.

Freyr had been taken from the others when he started to fight against Lannister's will. Only the Mother knew what could have been done to her eldest son. There were not as many scars on him as she might have thought… But perhaps there were more on the inside. She shook her head – did she not have any more hope for their race? Her mind kept recalling Ancalagon for her, like some twisted mockingbird call that chirped over and over.

Elathan piped up suddenly that made her mind snap free, "Why would he choose the ruins of Angmar?"

At a glance, Freya would have never known the ruins to be a once-city of Men. In fact, she may have seriously thought that it was a mere jut of rock. But the city was in terrible shape; many of the would-be towers were knocked over or covered with tangling ivy. When she landed, Freya found charred or weathered stone mounted upon battle-scarred earth. She did not see any sign of Freyr amongst the stones.

Her amber eyes flicked over toppled works of masonry and a rotten bunch of thatch to a half-built castle that was a gigantic cylinder. She figured that the castle could have reached sky if the workers had been left alone long enough. Suddenly, from amongst the dark grey stone, rose Freyr.

He stood taller than her now, and might tower over Heimdall one day. His shadow passed over a cluster of crumbled houses as he padded toward her. He bowed to her, despite her bumping her snout against his horns.

"Where in the name of the Father did you run off to?" Smaug demanded, releasing a snort of smoke. Freyr glanced over at his half-brother and then cast his gaze down to the ground. "We need to stay together, should anyone see us…!"

Freya cast a glare over her shoulder at her flustered son, "Enough, Smaug! He merely was lost, and it is high unlikely that anyone saw us."

"But _Monah_," Smaug tried to interject, but Nerthus smacked him on the side of the head with her tail, quieting him.

Freya nudged Freyr with her nose and he purred low in his throat – still never saying a word. Something deep within her stirred uneasily. Her son shifted from paw to paw, as though something itched under his skin.

"Freyr, why did you run off?" She enquired with a low voice. His gold eyes flicked up to hers, guilt pooling within them. Why was there guilt? And why did it make her heart shudder? "Freyr… please."

Freyr opened his mouth to speak, but what came out made her heart stop. _"I lost my way,_" His voice was a throaty rasp. _"And I cannot speak as I wish."_

"He beat it out you," Heimdall said at once. "He beat your true voice out of you…"

Freyr cast his eyes down to the ground in mute shame. A king must possess a strong voice, her father once told her. Without it, how can they control an army? A king must also speak the language of the Common Folk as well, to help those who did not understand his cause to join under him and understand. Freyr _lost_ that ability. As a whelp, he was not gifted with speech as Nerthus and Elathan were, he had a harder time taking in the Common Folk speech, but he learned it nonetheless…

"How did he-?" Nerthus began, tears shining in her ruby eyes. Freyr strode forward and nudged his sister on the shoulder. "First Elathan's wings and now your voice!"

"Nerthus, hush!" Elathan snapped. She fixed her brother with a watery glare, and he cleared his throat softly. "What I mean is… Freyr does not necessarily _need_ common speak, does he?"

"To rally other races, aye," Heimdall answered, shutting his eyes. "Without his common voice he -,"

A rustling drew Heimdall's gaze to a group of dried bushes. He narrowed his eyes at them and stalked closer. Freya muttered her protest, but he ignored her. There was something foul in those bushes… Or at least she thought there was….

Sticking his nose into the bushes, Heimdall withdrew a small rabbit and plopped it down in front of his feet. The tiny, fluffy creature was quivering for fear of its life, despite her husband nudging it along with one of his toes.

"You seem on edge, my Fire-Scales," Heimdall commented once the group split amongst themselves to search the old ruins of Angmar. "We are within reach of the Ice Bay now, does that not bring you happiness?"

Freya stole a glance at Heimdall. His strong face was marred with large, open scratches and one that wept black blood over his jaw. Though most of them were scabbed over and healing, she feared that the blood would lead a creature like Castamere to them. With a bit of regret, Freya shook her head.

"Even if we reach Aman without alerting Lannister, I will still fear for the people we leave behind on this side of the Ice," She explained, her paw scooping up a weathered stone. Patches of black dirt covered the light grey stone, reminding her of her lost home. Had Heimdall engraved it with his claws, it would have looked like the walls of her hold in miniature. But the hold was lost… "You were not wrong by saying that the elves could do little to help us. Perhaps I am mad for thinking that they will help us."

Heimdall let out a long, heavy sigh, "Maybe they will, or maybe they will stab us with their little spears and we will have to face the ilk of Lannister on our own."

"Dear One would never allow such a thing," It was a truth that her mind could twist into a lie oh so easily. Heimdall cocked an eye ridge at her, but she did not take his facial expressions to heart. Her husband was one to disbelieve something rather quickly, even if the truth stared him in the face. Her throat tightened, "Her family would help us, if they could."

"If they could does not mean they will," Her husband replied archly. "Perhaps she has forgotten us…"

Freya's tail snapped at the air making it shiver, "She would never forget us. She and her Golden Lord love us."

"I hope they still do," She glared at him for such a comment, but he never so much as flinched, "For if they have forgotten us, then we have cornered ourselves in an alien land."

~.~.~

"What ruins are these, Elathan?" Nerthus enquired, poking her head over a toppled, mossy tower. Her talons scratched the stone as she hefted herself onto the tower. The tower overlooked rolling, dead landscape that seemed to stretch on forever in either direction, until it halted in its tracks to climb into the far away peaks of the Ettenmoors and Misty Mountains. Mist crowned the latter with delicate lace that hid the snowy peaks from her view. Her heart lurched in her chest, she could not be as carefree as she wanted – they were being hunted after all.

Elathan swept into her vision, his tail dragging behind him like a woman's train and his wings were somewhat folded on his back. His teal eyes regarded her for a moment before turning to the tower she was settled on. Standing on it like she was, she felt like a princess placed on a pedestal, an object that was meant to be praised and loved.

"I often do not pay attention to the geography of the cities of Men, but this one… This one remains to be known to me, sweet sister," Elathan replied, leaping beside her. He was a handsome dragon in the light of day, perhaps had he not been blood related to her, she might've pursued him. He appeared to be made of gold and prisms in the sunlight, for his scales glittered as he twisted his head to observe the area. Compared to her, he was a fragment of the sun itself…

He turned to look at her after she stood there staring at him for a while. His eyes were more striking to her than his scales; they never changed out of their teal boundaries. A serpentine smirk formed on his lips, and she flicked him with her tail lightly. Her pale brother let out a snort of laughter.

"Maybe, just maybe, she forgot about us," Elathan said, as if more to himself than to her. He raised a claw to his neck, scratching his chin. "But I do so desperately want to tear Castamere's eyes out of her skull."

_Oh, you beautiful, vengeful fool,_ She thought ruefully. Were his wings truly worth it? She could understand Freyr with his lack of a voice, but Elathan could always task himself to something different. He had the ability; he just chose never to take the path that best fit him. She stretched her wings, the sun decorating the leathery skin there with speckles. He regarded her with a sideways glance, and she closed her wings with a snap. Never again would he feel the sun streaming through them…

"Elathan, it would not be worth it," Nerthus found herself whispering, defeated. Her voice was mouse-like, oh so tiny and feeble. She _knew_ that she would never be the same dragoness, and that in some way she should have made Lannister pay for ravishing the females of her family. No! Coruwen taught her to never taunt an enemy…

"Do you honestly think that the hell you suffered was not worth it?" Her brother's voice became a whip, she flinched. "That we should let him walk all over us?"

"No, I never said that…"

"Aye, but you did. We should have never let that lowly wyrm into our hold! _Bormah_ should have ripped Castamere's head off of her shoulders all those years ago when she came parading into the Heath! And he should have done it with Lannister when he laid a claw on you!"

Within her chest, her fire heart sparked to life to force black, violet flame out of her nostrils. "That is you – _Bormah _is another type of dragon! One that does not let petty things bother him." Elathan cocked an eye ridge at her and his smirk turned sour on his lips.

"It is not petty if it has meaning," A hiss escaped his mouth followed by his nose crinkling into a near perfect snarl. Mother Above, the snarl never marred his face as it would her or Freyr… But it was his growl that made her spine tingle – it was deep, deep within his chest like a peal of thunder. "If you think of what happened to you and grandmother and _Monah_ was _petty,_ then think as you will. But either I or Freyr will sunder Lannister's head from that spindly neck of his and Castamere's head shall be torn in two!"

With those words, Elathan hopped off of the tower and stormed off in some random direction that Nerthus silently dreaded. It was not as though she viewed it as petty or mundane, but rather it was what her mind saw it as. She wanted rip off Lannister's head as well, but she would never let it control her as it did Freyr and Elathan. Nerthus simply could not go ripping off lordling heads like a madwoman. Her brother's words stung, there was truth in that, but the meaning barely fazed her. She had succeeded in ridding herself of Lannister's touch, of his memory, or his crazed laughter. Nerthus wanted to forget him, to forget that any of it happened… Wherever her mother led them, she hoped that she would eventually forget about Lannister and his cruelty.

Circling once, Nerthus laid down on the cool, mossy ruin to watch the sun pan over the rolling waste. She had forgotten what moss felt like against her belly, it was far more welcoming than any hunk of stone or bed of leaves could ever dream of being. In fact, it was the second greenest thing she had seen since her capture… Her sister being the first, and always would be the first since Zorya was greener than the ebony veins in Erebor. She ran her knuckles over the moss, picking up little white flowers in her claws like specks of dirt. She turned it over in her paw and the flowers dribbled out onto the stone.

"Nerthus?" A voice asked behind her. Turning her head, she beheld her father. An aura of morning light cast a halo around Heimdall's head and moved with him as he leapt up beside her. Her eyes traced the arching horns on his head that she and Zorya had obtained and then the beautiful, verdant scales her younger sister had as well. "Why are you out here on your own?"

Nerthus crossed her paws, "Elathan was present with me until his anger swallowed him," She answered grimly. Her father's lantern yellow eyes blinked slowly before they became filled with a deeply rooted shame. Lying down at her side, Heimdall shifted his shoulders around, the fleshy scars on them twisting. "You seem ashamed of him…"

"Your brother's barbed tongue is a curse more than a blessing, and he wields it without ever thinking that it can harm… Your mother always said that with a barbed tongue and the heart of a fire drake, your little brother could rule the world of dragons without so much as batting an eyelash." His wings tore open from his back like streamers of ivory and dark, forest green. With one hefty flex, her father pushed them back onto his scarred spine. "But in the world of rules and the rules of succession – Freyr takes the title of king over Elathan."

Nerthus squirmed uneasily in her spot, "Elathan would never make a good king, he would go around ripping spines out of terrorists and the heads of usurpers."

"My exact point," Heimdall turned a look on her and she stiffened. His stare had the bright, encompassing will of a king, showing every bit weight that the title bore. "Your brother is like Ancalagon, but smaller and without fire."

"_Monah_ said that Grandfather was just and kind, like you," Her father curled back his lips at her comment, but said nothing. "It was Grandmother who was the frightful one…"

"Mayhaps she was, my onyx," Heimdall's voice tingled with frustration. "I suppose I was wrong… But none of your siblings share her look; rather _you_ are the only one that shares a look with any of your sires."

She nodded, "I have grandfather's look – I know."

"And there is the reason that Lannister wanted you to be so emotionally torn, or…" He snorted out mist, "At least that is what I think… You have Ancalagon's look, and Lannister hated him-,"

Nerthus stopped him with a sideways glare. "I know, _Bormah_… I have thought the same ever since he first laid a paw on me… I have _always_ known."

* * *

_A/N: See? I'm not dead! Anyway, This chapter was a major problem-child for about two days. I kept destroying and re-writing it a stupid number of times, and even still I'm not really happy with this chapter. Don't know why it was, but eh - I'm glad I managed to get this to you guys. :) _

_If you want to follow me on Tumblr, please come look me up under this penname and join the Tumblr family! _

_If you enjoyed this chapter, please favorite, follow, and leave me a review! _

_Until next time, _

_-Angel_


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